


Best friend

by tinyniel



Category: Ten Inch Hero
Genre: Angst, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Schmoop
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-07
Updated: 2013-01-07
Packaged: 2017-11-24 01:45:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,126
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/628905
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tinyniel/pseuds/tinyniel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>... yeah, yeah. I hear ya. I'm just not sure I wanna pick up this time. I know what's on the other end, and I can't listen to that. Not tonight.</p><p>Not again.</p><p>-</p><p>This has been playing in my mind since the first time I saw this film. I always got the impression Tish and Priestly were really good friends, and that she confided in him a lot and yeah. This happened.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Best friend

**Author's Note:**

> Crossposted at my fiction journal (lil-nefarious.livejournal.com/2334.html)

... yeah, yeah. I hear ya. I'm just not sure I wanna pick up this time. I know what's on the other end, and I can't listen to that. Not tonight.

Not again.

Because you got dumped, didn't you? Or maybe you dumped him? I've seen it coming, these past few days.

What was it this time? Way too friendly with his ex? Or was he "just looking for a bit of fun, and you looked like a bit of fun"? Or maybe you brought up the g-word, and he freaked out?

You sure know how to pick 'em, don't you?

Douchebags. Always with the douchebags. The cocky ones with the great abs and the all-over tans, the nice cars and the sleazy pick-up lines. The ones that reek of bad news before they've even opened their mouth.

Don't you see it? Don't you ever see past the hair, and the pearly whites and the lame flirts and see the real guy under there? The guy who's never going to treat you right. Never going to appreciate you. Never going to make you happy.

You deserve so much better!

These guys aren't going to see all those things that make you wonderful. Because you don't let them. I see how you change, every time, when you find one that ends up being more than just a one-night-stand. How you hide parts of yourself, only let him see what you think he'll like, and bury all those things that make you great.

And when you finally let him see them, it always ends bad.

Don't you understand? They don't care about what's on the inside. They care about what they can see, and touch and brag about to their friends. They don't want a girlfriend, they want a trophy. And you fall for it ever damn time.

I've played with the idea of sitting one of them down, one of the longer-term ones, just to ask him questions. Just to see if he _really_ knows you.

I bet none of them know you were so homesick the first month you lived here, that you cried yourself to sleep every night. Or that you know every line to every single Joni Mitchell song. That you can finish off an entire tub of ice cream in one night, all on your own.

Or that you wanted to major in Literature, but that you never had the guts. You. Who would've thought?

But they don't know all of these things, none of them do. And they don't know that whenever it ends, whenever one of them breaks if off, you come crying to me. That I have to pick up the pieces.

See, that tough girl act has its flaws.

Yeah, I hear you ringing. Still. Just hang up. I'm busy. I've got a date, we're currently right in the middle of the best sex anyone's ever had. No time for you.

... yeah right.

I should say 'no', really. I should stop it. Stop being there, stop letting you use me as some kind of wailing wall. I shouldn't drop everything and come running every time that phone rings and I can hear the tears in your eyes before you even say 'hello'.

I should. But I can't.

Because all those things you don't let them see? All those things you reserve, hide away, for fear that they won't fit whatever image these idiots have of you?

I see all of those things. And I love you for them.

Everything. All of it. Even how pissed off you get over little things (you're a nightmare to be around when you PMS, you know that?). How you always have to be right. How you wrap me around your little finger whenever you need something.

How I just can't say 'no' to you.

Guess I don't want to either. At least this way, I get to be close to you. Sure, it hurts like hell and it's only ever when there's no one else. When you're lost, and heartbroken. Or when he's outta town, and you don't wanna be stuck alone on a Saturday night watching soppy movies.

So I'll come over. And watch whatever romantic piece of crap you have picked out for us. Complaining loudly all the way through it, until you turn to look at me with one of those looks that stop my heart and go "quit bitching. A little romantic education is good for you".

And then the end comes, and the guy gets the girl, or the girl gets the guy and you always cry because "why can't stuff like that happen in real life"?

But I'm a nice guy. So I don't say anything. Like, remember that movie about the girl and the guy who was her best friend and always there for her and you kept shouting about "how blind can you get??"?

... yeah, she was the blind one all right ...

No. You can stop ringing. I've had it. Enough of this. I know what's going to happen.

I'm going to pick up, and you're going to be in tears. And I can't resist you at the best of times, so when you cry I'm pretty much instantly screwed.

So I'll pick up some ice-cream and I'll rush over and you'll cry into my shoulder, and babble about how unfair it is. And I'll just hold you close, and stroke your hair and assure you that you deserve better.

And you'll complain that you look like a mess. So I'll blurt out "you look beautiful". Because you do, even with your make-up streaming and your hair all over the place and your snot soaking into my shirt.

And you? You just laugh it off.

"You're the best, Priestly."

Yeah, I'm a friggin' saint ...

I'm an idiot, is what I am. All those times, looking into your eyes and trying to remind you that you can get any guy you want so why cry over some douche who doesn't know what he's missing ...

All I really have to do is tell you. Take your tear-stained face in my hands and tell you that I want you. That to me, you are perfect. That I don't need you to be any of those things you think you have to be. I just want you to be mine.

Maybe tonight? Maybe tonight'll be the night when you finally realise. When you look up at me, and it suddenly hits you. Why I'm here, why I'm _always_ here.

Because when that day comes, it's all gonna be worth it ...

\- Oh good, you're home.

\- Tish, you OK?

\- Yeah ... no, it's just ... Alex, he-

\- Hey hey, no tears OK? I'll be there in five.

\- Thanks, Priestly. You're the best friend ever.


End file.
